


to keep you warm

by loki (lokigurl)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Angst, The Body
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-30
Updated: 2011-05-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:05:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lokigurl/pseuds/loki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>what was really going on in willow's room during "The Body"</p>
            </blockquote>





	to keep you warm

The blue sweater.

It's what she wants, what she's been looking for. Nothing she's put on feels right - it all looks like something a stranger picked out, perhaps some distant relative who has no idea who she is. All her dark clothes are too dark - too somber, all her bright ones are ridiculously childish. Joyce said she liked the blue sweater once. Said it reminded her of something she once owned. A long time ago - or not so long ago - but it got lost in a move. It's gone now, though, never to be worn again.

The blue sweater, that's what she needs.

When she first found out, she collapsed - her legs simply gave out. Her Love came to her and took her hand, not saying a word. And she was grateful. Her Love waits patiently through every tantrum and breakdown. She stopped crying about five minutes ago but they both know it could start again any second. Like so many times in the past two hours.

The blue sweater, that will make her feel better.

But she can't find it. And she's stuck with stupid clothing that only feels itchy. The yellow itches her arms while the green itches her chest. The purple makes her wrist all prickly and the white, well, she knows not to wear white. There is absolutely nothing in her closet - what do you wear when your best friend's mother dies?

Where the hell is that goddamn sweater?

Her Love grabs her before she slides down the abyss again and kisses her. It stops hurting for a minute and she is in awe of Her Love's power. But as lips slide from lips and breath untangles from breath, the pain seeps up and chokes her. She holds onto Her Love and squeezes her hands in hopes that she'll harness some of that power. The power to make the world stop spinning.

She's waiting for him - them - to show up, then they can leave. Leave and comfort Buffy... or at least try to. Sit with, talk with, be with her. Is that what you're supposed to do? She thinks that's what she would want, but maybe Buffy just wants to be with her sister, her family. They always say they're family, but...

They're here. This shirt is all wrong - what will they think when they see her? Her Love lingers by the door until she pulls on a new top. No one knows what to say, no one can move. There are words coming from her mouth but she has no idea what she's saying. But she's glad he's finally here.

He looks sad. Sad, what a stupid word, she thinks. Of course he's sad, who could be happy at a time like this? He wraps his arms around her and she buries her face in his shoulder. The world is still spinning but she can breathe again. His face is soft, lost between hurt and anger. She wants to take him by the hand and drag him into the closet and lock the door with their feet, just like when they'd run home from school after Billy McElroy was picking on them. Or when they were playing in the yard and the Simpson's dog scared them half to death with its sudden barking. They would run up the stairs and slam the closet door shut, huddling (almost on top of one another). Slowly, those monsters faded away and new ones came. And they learned how to fight those together as well.

But there's no monster to be fought this time. No one for Buffy to punish, no spell to undo the past. The others are across the room and she wonders what they are thinking. Can they sense that she can't bear to leave his side? The aura, the feeling he emotes - she had almost forgotten the peace he brings to her. It's different from Her Love (the world is still spinning), yet just as strong (her heart is calm). It's one she can't live without.

He's angry - one step past her in the psychological chain - and she walks away to change. This one, the orange, it's not right. Besides, he never liked this shirt - this colour - and she doesn't want to upset him any further.

If only she could find the right thing to wear, then maybe he'd...

She comes out in something new and listens to him yell. It's to mask his pain, she knows, he's always been one to focus on what he *can* do instead of wallowing in the undoable. He was never one to deal with an emotional issue head on - but he was never one to yell, either. This, she is not used to.

There is a passion in his voice and for a moment she wants to push him into the closet. Rip his clothes off and gasp as his hands make their way over and around her body. Turn back the clocks to a time when they selfishly devoured every moment (every part) of each other without a thought of the outside world. Return them to a place where they didn't care about anything but them - not their lovers, their responsibilities, their commitments. Let time stand still in the dark and only experience that exhilaration of new love intertwined with utter knowledge of one another.

But the closet is not a time machine - just a space filled with the wrong clothes. So, instead she offers to take him down and settles for the understanding recognition in his eyes and a kiss on the forehead.

It's wrong, it's all wrong. It really should be the blue one.

Her Love offers to search outside the safe haven of their room and she accepts. Their hands touch and the ground is level again, the rumbling relaxes. His Love starts in and she tries to tune her out (she's learned it's safer that way). But the things His Love says, they pick away at her already shaky stability and she snaps. Then His Love snaps.

In a flurry of words, she realizes that she both loves and hates His Love. That every question asked is every question she's been afraid to ask. That desperate, urgent tone is the one she's wanted to speak in. That strength to admit ignorance, that's what she's searched for all day. And in front of her, His Love has all this and more. She loves her for this - for putting all her indescribable desires into solid form and not making her say the things echoing in her head. But she hates His Love - hates her for being a reminder that all this is happening. That this is where she is, and this is what she feels and that it's not going away.

She is tempted to run into the closet, shut her eyes and stick her fingers in her ears. Chant "I can't hear you, I can't see you" over and over and over again. That worked when she was younger - the evil would go away and everything would be right again. However, as she's grown older, they don't make closet doors strong enough anymore and the outside world has a way of seeping in.

There is a noise - a crash - she almost thinks that it's the universe falling to pieces around them (stranger things have happened). He stands a few feet away, hand firmly embedded in the wall. His Love rushes over and they work to get him out, scolding him for his rashness. He seems better, if anyone could be 'better' right now, and she is a little jealous. She wants a reason for her pain, a cause for her effect, an action to blame for her emotional reaction.

She wants to make it all stop. Wants their lives to turn back several months, before Joyce got sick and they learned the truth about Dawn. Or longer, before she caused so much pain to people she loved (oh god, did it feel like this? was it worse?) and watched as people she loved were killed and tortured. She wants to go back before she learned of vampires and demons and vengeful gods. She wants to...

He is talking to Her Love, they are smiling. Something shared - she doesn't quite know what, but she can tell something has changed. He understands, he understands why she loves her so, and how good Her Love is for her. Not the humouring look he normally wears around them, but one of appreciation and trust. She hadn't realized that she needed that, needed him to trust Her Love, needed him to understand. Six months ago, she didn't have that. Five years ago, she didn't have this peace - people to keep her world from spinning, to keep her heart calm, and to make her fall apart simply because she loved them and wanted to take care of them when they hurt.

The tone is soft, apologetic and she can barely hear it. Her Love couldn't find the sweater in the laundry room. It all seems so silly now, that an article of clothing could make it all better. It's already better - and she didn't need to slam her fist into a wall. He did that for her and now she stands by him (with Her, His Loves). She will try to give him the same understanding back.

They file out slowly, off to bring their love to Buffy and remind her that she's not alone.

She pauses midway down the hall and tells them to go on, she'll meet them downstairs. Rushing back into the room, she grabs a previously discarded sweater from the bed and closes the closet door. Fingering the material, she still wishes that she had the blue one (it's softer and doesn't make her skin so itchy) but she knows that it's not the end of the world.

Because sometimes a closet is just a closet, and a sweater is just something to keep you warm.


End file.
